


Welcome to the House of Fun

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Doubles, Gen, Mirrors, carnivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil goes to the carnival with Kevin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the House of Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr post by [dearxlisteners](http://dearxlisteners.tumblr.com/)

Come to the carnival, Cecil, he said. It’ll be fun, he said.

Lies.

He knew that he shouldn’t trust Kevin. Not after the “company picnic.” The chili cook off had been disappointing, and the badminton tournament had been cursory at best. Mostly it was screaming and pain. So why had he agreed to go to the carnival with Kevin?

He was bored. Horribly, horribly bored.

Carlos was gone. He had work. He had Khoshek, at work. He had his sister and his niece, and (ugh) Steve, but that was a sometimes food for him. So when Kevin had called and asked him to go to the carnival, the small part of his brain that held self-preservation shrugged and said “why the hell not?”

And it _had_ actually been fun, kind of. They’d gotten cotton candy, they’d gone on the tilt-a-whirl. Cecil had been thrown up against Kevin during the churning and had been surprised to find that he smelled like nothing. Nothing at all.

Afterward, they’d gone to the midway, and weirdly, Kevin had won him a large stuffed puppy dog with crossed eyes and distended tongue. The guy had dead-aim. He handed it to Cecil and smiled. Horrendously.

“You’ll need this,” he said, in his syrupy-sweet voice.

“Thank… Thank you?” Cecil had said.

“You’re very welcome, double-dear,” Kevin had chirped, then booped him on the nose.

Then…

Then they walked past a door that looked like a grinning clown’s maw. Cecil felt a crawling down his spine and tried to walk away, but found himself guided toward the door by a strong hand on the back of his neck. He began to protest.

“No, Kevin, I don’t… I don’t like that door.”

“But you must, Cecil. You must **love** that door.”

“But I don’t want…”

“This is not about want, Cecil. Enjoy!”

And with that, he was shoved through the clown’s mouth and into the gullet.

He crouched on the floor, clutching Mr. Dog. He waited for death.

Death did not come. 

He breathed. Nothing so bad, then.

He stood. He blinked.

A man blinked back. A man. who looked terrified and angry. A man who was also holding a stuffed dog.

“What do you want?” He asked the man. The man gestured toward him, lines of terror and rage etching his face.

The man didn’t speak.

Knees trembling, Cecil approached him. The man came closer as he did.

“Sir, please, I mean you no harm, but you are making me VERY! UNCOMFORTABLE! Now please go away!”

As he spoke, the man got angrier and angrier, and more and more frightened. (“Never negotiate with a terrified primate,” chimed his Boy Scout training.)

“Sir, I have to ask you to BACK AWAY.”

They were nose-to-nose now. A weird mist blew up between the two of them. Cecil raised a fist. So did the man.

Cecil struck.

CRAAAAAACK

The man shattered into a million pieces, and Cecil found himself bleeding, shards of glass sticking out of his fist. Weird.

He sunk to the ground, cradling his wounded hand. At least his foe was vanquished. 

He looked up, and hundreds more of the man looked back. 

He heard tinkling laughter from just outside the door.

He screamed.


End file.
